


I Want us Both to Eat Well

by welpplew



Series: To Kiss the Hands That Feed [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: I saw a tweet and this happened, M/M, Pre-Relationship, i wrote this in one sitting, just trying to encapsulate the tenderness that is making food for another person, lowkey fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25724563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welpplew/pseuds/welpplew
Summary: And Osamu follows these movements, tracks the careful way Sakusa hooks a finger under the elastic loop of his mask and removes it, revealing high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, a handsome mouth.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: To Kiss the Hands That Feed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891636
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56
Collections: 🐶🍙 omigiri fanfic collection





	I Want us Both to Eat Well

**Author's Note:**

> "I’m doing a balancing act with a stack of fresh fruit in my basket. I love you. I want us both to eat well." -Our Beautiful Life When It's Filled With Shrieks by Christopher Citro

Osamu’s restaurant isn’t usually reserved for parties. Celebrities and significant people are more likely to book some Michelin-rated eatery than his humble, hole-in-the-wall, Onigiri place. However, when the opportunity does show itself in the form of his nationally-recognized volleyball player of a brother sauntering through the doors of Onigiri Miya asking to use his establishment to hold a pre-season celebration, Osamu doesn’t turn him away. 

“And ‘Samu, trust me,” Atsumu says in a voice that conveys the very opposite of trust, “you would be getting free publicity by letting us celebrate here. Imagine, the Black Jackals standing in _your_ dining area, eating _your_ food—once social media hears about it, you’ll have a whole new wave of customers the next day! So, what do you say? Do your brother a favor?” 

Osamu keeps his hands working around the warm rice, making sure that the filling doesn’t spill out. He could give in to his brother’s request, but that would mean closing early the day of the party. It would also mean quickly making an obscene amount of food in order to sustain a pro-volleyball team. He could do it though. It wouldn’t be hard. Just tedious after working all day. But, saying yes would also mean that he would have something to hold over his brother’s head, the fact of which pleases him greatly. 

“Ok. But you’re not getting this for free.” He sets the plate of onigiri on the pickup counter for the wait-staff to grab and deliver. “You’ll pay 50% of what I would usually charge for the food and the party can’t be on a Monday, Friday, or Saturday, those are my busiest days. Also, _you_ will be helping me clean up after the event. How’s that?” 

Atsumu huffs and fiddles with the rice paddle. “Fine, but you can’t yell at me if my cleaning isn’t up to your standards. If you want someone who can actually clean then ask Sakusa.” 

-

Two weeks later on a Wednesday, Osamu closes his shop two hours early and gets to making a feast worthy of his brother’s team. The rice is cooked and fluffy and his hands move like a well-oiled machine: scoop, stuff, form, repeat. And besides his restaurant’s namesake, he fries up tempura-battered vegetables, grills yakitori, cuts up pickled daikon, and stirs up a pot of miso soup. 

When all the dishes are sitting under warming lamps or cooling in the refrigerator, he has a little less than half an hour before his brother and his teammates are to walk through the door. So he quickly cleans the dining area and the bar. He puts tea on and pulls out some beer glasses from their place below the counter.

Osamu hears a knock on the door as he’s steeping the tea, and looking up, he sees the obnoxious face of his brother. He waves the team in and the chilly autumn air joins them in the doorway. 

“‘Samu, thanks for having us! Some other guys and the coach should be here soon,” Atsumu says as he inches himself towards the kitchen wanting to get a better look at what Osamu had made for them. 

He grabs his brother by the arm of his coat before he can pass him. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya, please make yourself comfortable. There are seats at the bar and you can use any of the tables. Before I forget, can I get any of you anything to drink?” 

Bokuto speaks up first from where he and Hinata are sniffing at the air. “Beer!” 

“Of course,” Osamu says with a smile as he lets go of his brother’s sleeve. “‘Tsumu, help me get the beer.” 

Atsumu stares incredulously at his brother. “What? Why me, I’m a guest?” 

“No, you’re a brother. Now come.” 

Drinks are passed out and the atmosphere changes and warms from the chilly, stilted awkwardness that often accompanies the beginning of events in unfamiliar places.

Soon more of the team arrives along with the coach and the manager who, Osamu learns, had to be dragged here by the coach. At their arrival, food is placed on tables for people to serve themselves as Osamu refills drinks and chats with the players, asking them for any embarrassing stories his brother might be withholding from him. 

It’s been about an hour and a half since the team arrived when Osamu sees his brother and Bokuto cornering a terrified looking man into a corner with what looks to be onigiri in their hands. He walks over to stop the bullying. 

“Oi, want to tell me what exactly yer’ doin’ with the food I so kindly made for ya?” 

“Ha, 'Samu, your accent is more obvious when you’re mad just like ‘Tsum-Tsum’s,” Bokuto points out as he turns from Sakusa to Osamu. “Also,” Bokuto continues, “we’re just trying to make him eat it.” 

Osamu isn’t rude enough to glare at a guest but he does glare at his brother. “Huh?” 

Atsumu huffs and says, “he’s a picky jerk, hasn’t eaten much this whole time.” After which he takes a bite of the onigiri he was brandishing at Sakusa a moment ago. 

“Ok, but that doesn’t justify ya actin’ like idiots. Now Shoo, ‘Tsumu, make sure yer friends have enough to drink.” 

The pair shuffle off at that and Osamu turns his attention to the scared creature in the corner of his restaurant. 

“Did you not like the food?” He asks, trying not to sound insulted. 

Sakusa shakes his head, “No, it’s not that. I don’t want to eat food someone else may have touched.” 

The mask he’s wearing makes his sullen words come out a little muffled in the loud room. 

And Osamu’s not sure if he heard right nor does he know how to continue, in his head he thinks, _weird_ , but being a good host, he asks, “were you able to eat anything?” 

Sakusa shrugs and looks down at his hands, “some yakitori and tempura in the beginning, but then other people started to eat and I don’t trust them not to get their germs on things.” 

“Hm, ok." It's funny seeing how petulant a pro-player can be when he's off the court and if Osamu were Atsumu, he'd probably laugh. "Come sit at the bar. I can make you ochazuke and you can watch me make it and confirm that it’s not been contaminated,” Osamu replies with a smile. He walks off and doesn’t check to see if the other man is following him, but from the kitchen, when he looks out to the counter, he sees Sakusa sitting stiffly with his hands in his lap—he’s looking at Osamu. 

So Osamu gets busy, doesn’t want to keep his guest waiting. He walks to the sink and scrubs his hands, makes a good show of the soap lathering between each finger and just above his wrist. He dons plastic gloves and grabs a bowl from their place above the sink. 

Starting with the tea, he puts a kettle on a burner and lets it heat up as he prepares the other components. Shiso leaves are cut into small strips while takana-zuke are finely chopped. Osamu peeks over at Sakusa and meets his eye. 

Umeboshi are chopped into a paste. 

Osamu scoops warm rice into the bowl and places the umeboshi, takana-zuke, and shiso leaves atop the mound. Gently, he pours the tea over the rice. 

“I hope this is ok,” he says, placing the bowl down in front of Sakusa whose hands are still placed in his lap. 

Who moves one hand to pluck a pair of chopsticks from their cup situated next to him; careful to only touch one pair, his hand retreats gracefully. 

And Osamu follows these movements, tracks the careful way Sakusa hooks a finger under the elastic loop of his mask and removes it, revealing high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, a handsome mouth. 

Sakusa neatly rips open the paper covering of his chopsticks and looks down at the bowl. He says a quiet thanks that Osamu has to strain to hear, and eats. 

-

“Thanks a bunch, Osamu.” 

“Ya, thank you, it was great.” 

“‘Samu, next time you’re selling at a tournament, let me know!” 

Osamu nods and smiles in response to the chorus of thanks he receives as the team makes their way out the door and into the cool night. But when the bell rings closed, his face falls into one of exhaustion. 

The thought of working tomorrow gives him a headache and he thanks the heavens that his kitchen staff do the morning prep-work. 

“‘Tsumu, when I get into the kitchen, ya better be washin’ dishes or I’ll kick yer ass,” he yells loudly in warning as he turns from the door. But the fire in his voice dies down when he sees that he and his brother aren’t the only ones still in the restaurant. 

Gloved and masked and wiping tables as if he worked here, Sakusa stands hunched over the bar counter spraying disinfectant. 

“Sakusa, you didn’t leave,” he asks, confusion evident. “You don’t have to help, that’s what Atsumu is for. It’s late, go home and get some sleep.” 

“No, I can help. As thanks for the ochazuke.” 

And Osamu doesn’t have the energy to push the conversation, so he relents, maybe a little too easily, says, “I’ll sweep then, thank you for your help.” 

There's a grunt in response. They work in silence, Sakusa moving from table to table and Osamu sweeping dust and crumbs into a small pile. 

Leaning against the wall, Osamu begins to question why he agreed to this. “I might just leave this all for tomorrow, or force ‘Tsumu to stay overnight and finish,” he mumbles to himself. 

“I’m done with the tables and I’ve returned the cleaning supplies,” Sakusa says, standing in front of Osamu who starts from the man’s sudden presence. 

“Oh, ok. Thank you. You can leave.”

Sakusa nods but doesn’t go to move. Instead, he moves a hand up to his face, hooking a finger under the loop of his mask, and Osamu is once again captivated. 

“We can, you know,” Sakusa says quietly, his voice dropping deeper. 

Now his head is spinning and he doesn’t really know what face he’s making, but Osamu's certain in the thought that he’d be fine with Sakusa Kiyoomi whispering to him for the rest of his life. 

He’s really tired. 

“Osamu?” 

“What?” Osamu says, finally snapping from his stupor.

Sakusa repeats himself, still hushed, “we can leave Atsumu, he’d be fine.” 

And Osamu, despite his exhaustion, breaks into a shit-eating grin. “The doors do lock from the outside. You don’t think he’ll set my restaurant on fire?” 

Sakusa shakes his head, “no, he’ll probably just fall asleep as soon as he realizes we’re gone. He’ll be too embarrassed to call someone to set him free.” 

It doesn't take long for Osamu to put away the broom and grab his coat from the closet. "We can leave out the back and lock the front,” he says. 

That night they leave Atsumu to be found by the kitchen staff. 

That night Sakusa walks Osamu to his apartment. 

That night Osamu thinks about how Sakusa has no right to hide such a smile under a mask.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this](https://twitter.com/pala_bora/status/1290574353617182722) and almost had a stroke. 
> 
> As always, comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Also, here's my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welpplew) if you want to cry over haikyuu!! with me


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